After the Storm
by Lady Ayuka
Summary: Merlin doesn't know how long he sits there, staring off into the horizon. Day has turned to night has turned to day and the little boat that carried Arthur—his life, his destiny, his everything—has long since disappeared.


Merlin doesn't know how long he sits there, staring off into the horizon. Day has turned to night has turned to day and the little boat that carried Arthur—his life, his destiny, his _everything_—has long since disappeared.

He knows that he needs to get up. He has things he still needs to do. He has to tell Gwen and the Knights what has happened because he's not the only one who lost his King. Gaius is waiting for him. He has to get up. He has to—

The days turn to weeks. He no longer understands the passing of time. He should be long dead, from starvation or dehydration, _something, _and yet still here he sits, unmoving and yet in perfect health. He feels as though he should be questioning it more, it isn't right and it certainly isn't natural, but he can't bring himself to do so.

People come, after a time. Gaius comes, his face haggard and looking older than he ever has before. He takes one look at Merlin and lets out a quiet, "Oh, my dear boy," that is choked with more emotion than Merlin can identify. And he sits with him, for a very long time. They sit in silence. But soon Gaius' stomach is growling in hunger and he tries to cajole Merlin into coming with him. Merlin does not move and eventually Gaius leaves.

Gwen comes by, too, eventually; months have gone by at this point. She is in the company of Percival and Leon. Merlin is vaguely curious as to where Gwaine is, but that, too, is answered soon enough. He feels ashamed that he is unable to shed any more tears, can do nothing but look on blankly as they explain what had happened.

Gwen sits there with him for a very long time but instead she fills the silence with her words. She tells him of how she is Ruler now. Of how she would have come sooner but there were many things she had to take care of, funeral plans to arrange—she can barely get the words out, her fists clutched tight around her middle, as if she's only barely hanging on. She's repealing the ban on magic, also, but it's bound to take time and won't Merlin please come home?

But he can't. He can feel it in his very bones. He can never go back there, not where he has so many memories, not when Arthur is gone. He doesn't know how to say it but he knows Gwen understands all the same. She is just preparing to leave when he finally finds words.

"I'm sorry." It's the first thing he's said since that day. His voice is gravely and he's actually surprised she hears him at all. Her eyes soften as she caresses his cheek with her hand.

"You have nothing to apologize for. I know you did everything you could. And I'm thankful you were there for him in the end."

She takes her leave after that. He hears many great things about her rule; the people love her. She is kind and benevolent and just. She remarries, after a decade, and gives birth to a son. And though he hears many tales of her, he never sees her again.

He stays by that lake for fifteen years before he's finally able to leave. He hasn't aged even a day. He visits his mother and she holds him and cries, her hands withered and frail, and yet he does not shed a tear. He doubts he has any left.

Years pass until everyone he's ever loved is nothing more than legend. Albion becomes no more as other kingdoms gain power. And still he lives, never aging, never ailing. In fits of desperation he tries to end his life and yet he finds his injuries heal instantly, his magic flooding the wounds. And he screams at the sky every night—_why me, why alone, I just want to see him again, please—_and yet he never receives an answer.

He calls for Kilgharrah after five hundred years of self-imposed isolation, and though he knows it already, the call goes unanswered and he can't help but howl in anguish. Because he is alone. And he doesn't know how to stand it. He calls for Aithusa and finds the dragon a sickly looking imitation of itself. It growls at him, baring its fangs even as it knows it cannot harm him, and he leaves it be after that. He knows he's failed—_he's failed so badly, at everything, how could it all go so wrong?—_and yet there's nothing he can do but wait.

His friends are reborn, one after another, and he crosses paths with each. And each time, it's never the face he wants, needs to see.

Until one early morning, spelled as an old man, he's taking his walk around the lake, and he feels it. And a sense of peace_—_something he hasn't felt since he last faced his father, since he last stood in a cave full of crystals and laughed as he finally fully embraced his magic and his destiny_—_overcomes him.

_Arthur._

And for the first time in centuries Merlin smiles and knows that all is well.

**AN: I haven't written in awhile, and although this is pretty short, it's been on my mind lately so I finally sat and wrote it down. I feel like I could have done more with it (and who knows, maybe someday I might, though I make no promises) but at the same time I feel like this is the best I could do with this particular story right now. As always, thank you so much for reading. And also as always, any compliments or critiques in the reviews are very much welcome. **


End file.
